I met the Lord God Almighty today

I met the Lord God Almighty
on the corner of Lake and the 210.
He was grizzled and grey and overweight
under his baggy dirty flannel shirt
that filled the air with the smell of his smokes.

This is the magic kingdom he told me
as we watched the cars exit the 210
drivers and passengers sitting
staring straight ahead.

I sent my son down here for awhile
but I was disappointed, he nodded
looking at me sideways.
I know, I nodded,
an eye on the light that would tell me to walk away
but I didn't know.

I had just come from the train
where I saw a woman give up her seat
a young mother and a rowdy boy sat. 
I tried to see the god in him but
he was kicking my bag.

People crammed in a car
sitting next to others
they may not like
but prejudice on trains isn't practical.

A man reaches out to balance the blind man
who had tripped who thanked him but then hollered
Hands off! in self-sufficiency.

Maybe it is the magic kingdom.  My light
changed to walk and my friend sent me on my way
You can call me L.G.A. he said
as I walked in front of the stopped cars,
their windows closed tight against the Lord God Almighty.

Following mystery, not maps (and the elusive blue heron)

The elusive blue heron was the subject of many a story of family road trips.  My dad was a preacher, but when I think of what I learned from him in my childhood, it isn't the Sunday after Sunday of sermons and stories that comes to mind, but practical lessons about making space for mystery.

Dad was a contradictory traveler.  I couldn't understand the need to schedule, to wake at 5:30.  This goes against the very definition of vacation. He was always ready to start the day of sightseeing, so as not to lose any time.  He loved history, and a trek through a humid WWII submarine with a sweaty, exhausted bored teenager was a highlight for him.  But he also had an artist's eye, and from this, I learned the importance of getting lost in order to find the really fantastic sights to see.  To ignore the map for the longest short-cuts in the history of scenic routes.  To pull over, no matter where along the twisty coastal highway, to capture the beauty with a photo, especially the elusive blue heron.  The bird of Snavely legend.

I always imagined the herons saw him coming, watched the tall man unfold from the compact car, set up his tripod, hurried but paying attention to the details of the perfect shot.  Wait for it, wait for it, the heron alone on the river, tensing its muscles in preparation for flight, waiting for dad to remove the lens cap, focus the camera and Now!  The elusive blue heron bursts into flight, the photo a blur of wings and water.

I had a good, thoughtful and challenging conversation about faith, mystery and the American Christian church this weekend.  Stopping in the middle of the road, being aware of fleeting beauty and open to mystery does not seem a part of the current institution of church.  I'm not ready to throw out the baby with the bathwater, especially as the Christmas season arrives.  The season that embraces the mystery of the incarnation, of God with us.  But I'm not willing to settle for politics and rules that are not of love and justice.

Mystery does not coexist well with living by the letter of the law.  Mystery is stuff of the spirit.  I want to be able to pull over on the side of the road, absorb the beauty, wait for a blue heron. 

(Photo: Great Blue Heron, Mal2009, Etsy)

Live more musically

I had this Christmas card up in my Times cube year round.  It seemed necessary.

"In the end we shall have had enough of cynicism, skepticism & humbug, and we shall want to live more musically."
 ~Vincent Van Gogh

(© Sarah Sheffer, published by Doc Milo Productions.)

Journal diving for memories: Forgotten story of a sexist man and his life-saving pretzels

I'm in the midst of re-writing my stories from Kosovo, trying to tell a seamless travel memoir mixed with the stories of the people I encountered there, blended with the recent and ancient history.  Easy-peasey.  I'm also deep cleaning my files, shredding old bills and discovering bits and pieces of memories I'd forgotten.  Tucked into different journals or sometimes scribbled on an envelope, I'm trying to develop a filing system for these pieces, as well as let them do their trick of taking me back in time.

Reading an entry I began by simply stating "I miss Kosovo," I was reminded of an experience I'd completely forgotten, or blocked.  Thank god for my slightly insane diary habit.  "Before, I missed friends, but now I miss the place," I wrote.  "The streets.  Passing the internet cafe, the grocery store where few people speak English, and where I had my first experience being a woman in an Islamic country."

Kosovo is a nominally Muslim country.  Though people practice their faith, for many it is simply the culture in which they were raised, much like America's celebration of Christmas. The call to prayer doesn't stop or interrupt most daily life, but adds a distinct soundtrack to the days. Few women cover their heads.  Though there were definitive rules about the way I engaged with men and generally the role of women in domestic affairs, I didn't see too much of the sexist behavior the media often showcases in Islamic countries.

That is, until the day a woman clerk helped a man behind me in the market checkout line.  Because I didn't understand the language, I assumed he must have explained his hurry, his desperate need to step in front of me without even a nod of acknowledgment, so that he might rush home to his deaf, dumb and blind child and/or dying mother with their — what was he buying? — pretzels. His life-saving pretzels.

It wasn't until it happened a second time, standing in line with my Finnish friend who immediately growled about the frustration of it, that I recognized it was understood we should wait, because we were women.

It makes me growl remembering it, reliving it, writing about it here.  I'm also reminded of the brilliant satire from The Onion in honor of the author of "The Feminine Mystique."

I know my experience and feelings of outrage were just small ripples where other women are knocked over by waves of sexist behavior, trying to make them second-class citizens. Have you had such an experience?  How did you deal with it?

(Photo: The Onion)

Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow

Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. 
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

~The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

(Photo from Flickr, pixieclipx)

Vagina warriors: Speaking out

I've written before about one of my favorite scenes in the documentary "America the Beautiful," where Eve Ensler, famous for her feminine strength, "The Vagina Monologues" and V-Day tells about her travels to Africa. There she met a woman who was absolutely in love with all -- ALL of her body. When Eve complained about parts of her body she was less than thrilled by, the woman pointed to a tree and asked, "Is that tree beautiful?" Of course, Eve answered. The woman then pointed to a different tree. "Is that tree any less beautiful because it is different? ... I am a tree. You are a tree. Love your tree!"

Loving my tree comes not just by accepting my physical being, but embracing my voice and being confident to speak out.  It's becoming easier to do the older I get.  Right around 30 I realized I didn't care so much what people thought.  I still have moments where I worry too much. In fact, most days I feel the world really is a stage, and I have to play and look my part perfectly. (This could come from life in Hollywood, surrounded by actors and wanna-be's.) But with each day of being more aware, and with each birthday, I feel a little more free to dance to my own rhythm.  To learn the freedom of being me, of saying no to what doesn't fit with who I am.

Just a few weeks ago I joined the online community PulseWire, and have already found encouragement and inspiration from strong women speaking out, sharing their personal journeys. 

After I admitted being a born people-pleaser, whose goal has been to keep the peace, no matter what the cost, Julie, who works for International Development Exchange (IDEX), sent me this message:

"I think we as women are often conditioned to, just as you say, 'keep the peace' in the short term, regardless of the violence and deception that it can generate for ourselves (and others) in the medium and long term. I'm trying to condition myself to think in terms of exactly who keeping the peace serves, and at what cost. And yes, it has certainly been a lifelong struggle to recognize that my voice is worthy of being heard, and that getting it beyond the confines of my own mind in fact reinforces my values and resolve to do good in the world."

At what cost, indeed?  Looking back, my keeping the peace never resolved an issue, but covered it up.  It's a lifelong process and a journey of learning to let go of that scared little girl tiptoeing through life, and instead to be a presence, to speak my truth.

Reading Ode magazine's April issue, I came across Eve Ensler again.  In the short piece "Breaking the Silence," writer Carmel Wroth asks the question, "How does anyone find the courage to speak out against unspeakable crimes?  Eve Ensler's answer: Mobilize a movement to support the victims and stand by them while they tell their stories."  In speaking out against the brutal rapes in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Ensler says "I've seen the power of vagina warriors all around the world to transform their situations and become great leaders in their communities.  The women in the DRC are so fierce and so ready.  With a little bit of support, there are so many powerful women there who are ready to emerge."  "I am speaking today so that women who have been raped can come out, so they can be taught how to live," said one survivor.  (Read the entire story at Ode.)

In Glamour, Ensler struggles to tell us what she witnessed in the DRC, to make personal the horrifying statistics.  To "tell the stories of the patients (Dr. Mukwege) saves so that the faceless, generic, raped women of war become Alfonsine and Nadine—women with names and memories and dreams. I am going to ask you to stay with me, to open your hearts, to be as outraged and nauseated as I felt sitting in Panzi Hospital in faraway Bukavu."  (Read the entire story at Glamour.)

She also provides ways to help:

• Write a letter addressed to His Excellency, the President of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Joseph Kabila Kabange; demand that he take action to stop the attacks on women. Send it to U.N. Action Against Sexual Violence in Conflict, P.O. Box 3862, New York, NY 10163, and it will be delivered to Kabila.
• Donate directly to Panzi Hospital through vday.org.

Money donated to Panzi also goes to establish a City of Joy, a safe haven for the healed women, where they’ll learn to become political leaders.

I want to help women share their stories, find confidence in the truth and to speak out, but I know that the first step begins with my confidence to speak my voice.  It might sound different than yours, but I want to add to the choir of voices raised.  It might not even be loud, quiet action often speaks louder than yelling.  Sometimes it's a leap, and sometimes it's baby steps to the megaphone, to the march, to join in the dance. 

(Photo: Eve Ensler at Panzi Hosptial in DRC, courtesy V-Day.) 

Writing and life advice: Believe the impossible (L'Engle)

"The concentration of a small child at play is analogous to the concentration of the artist of any discipline. In real play, which is real concentration, the child is not only outside time, he is outside himself. He has thrown himself completely into whatever it is he is doing. A child playing a game, building a sand castle, painting a picture, is completely in what he is doing. His self-consciousness is gone; his consciousness is wholly focused outside himself." (Madeleine L'Engle, A Circle of Quiet)

"The world of fairy tale, fantasy, myth, is inimical to the secular world, and in total opposition to it, for it is interested not in limited laboratory proofs, but in truth.

"...It might be a good idea if, like the White Queen, we practised believing six impossible things every morning before breakfast, for we are called on to believe what to many people is impossible." (L'Engle, Walking on Water)

(Top photo: Child playing by Gerla Brakkee, Flickr, bottom photo: Children playing under sprinkler by Bill A, Flickr)

Widen out the boundaries of our being

"To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.  But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses — that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things."

~Pablo Neruda, from "Childhood and Poetry."

I felt this sense of unity with strangers at a candlelight vigil for Tibet during the 2008 Olympics.

I feel it at community celebrations, outdoor concerts where kids dance together and food is shared with strangers, instantly making friends.  I teeter on the introvert / extrovert line, and after days content being alone I'm suddenly desperate for community. Thank god for farmer's markets that make me feel a little more connected in our individualistic society. 

Reading Neruda's words in O Magazine, I first thought of the new online community I've found on PulseWire.  In the last week, I've read the stories of women from Africa, India, Mexico and here in the U.S.  I've never seen them in person, or walked into their homes, but I feel a sense of friendship and an even greater sense of responsibility that we all have the space to thrive, to continue to share our stories.

(Top photo: Candlelight vigil, ksl.com, Bottom photo:  Festival lanterns, Chiang Mai, Thailand, from preposterous, Flickr.com)